


Those Three Weeks

by AnnieVH



Series: Behind Closed Doors [17]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Domestic Violence, F/M, Gen, Rumbelle - Freeform, pre rumbelle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 15:46:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3816013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieVH/pseuds/AnnieVH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Mr. Gold nearly divorced his wife last year. She had a drinking problem or something. He left the house and everything. Didn’t last long, though. He came back after three weeks.“ – Ruby Lucas<br/>TIMELINE: before Belle comes back to Storybrooke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Go Up In Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> this story is a little more graphic regarding the following themes: ADULTERY, VERBAL EMOTIONAL AND PHYSICALL ABUSE (mostly mentioned), RAPE (mentioned). There’s also a lot of angry people screaming, family problems, and some anti-Hook.
> 
> Pairings for this verse: eventual Rumbelle and Swanfire.  
> Warnings for this verse: abusive relationship, implied non-con situations, child-abuse, violence, infidelity, very anti-Milah.
> 
> A HUGE THANKS to Maddie (maddiebonanafana.tumblr.com) who did the beta for this one-shot!
> 
> ANOTHER HUGE THANKS to callafallon (callafallon.tumblr.com) for explaining divorce procedures in the USA and in Maine AT LENGTH so that this could sound, at the very least, plausible. I hope I did a decent job at putting her knowledge to use.
> 
> I am still taking prompts for this verse.
> 
> I am also taking commissions.

As he drove to his father’s house, Neal couldn’t help but feel angry at Graham. He shouldn’t have waited for Neal to call; their agreement was that he’d let him know of these things straightaway.

“It was more of a scandal than anything else, really,” he had told him. “Your mother is developing quite a reputation in town. Or, well, she’s making her bad reputation worse. She hit him, and it was in front of a lot of witnesses. In case he wants to press charges, that’s good. But you know your dad, I could barely convince him to let me escort their car back home.”

“Oh, dad,” Neal sighed, passing in front of the clock tower. “What will it take?”

He really didn’t want to know the answer to that question.

He was  _terrified_  of the answer to that question.

Neal had asked his father to quit his marriage many times before. In fact, it was a recurring theme in their conversations. But the old man refused adamantly to listen to his son. He always had an excuse.

His mother spent most of their marriage guilt-tripping his father and making him feel bad for whatever reason she could come up with. Maybe that was the problem. If half of her aggressions were physical, then it would be easier to show to his father that she didn’t love him. He almost left her once when she gave him a limp. Then he almost left her again when she punched Neal in the face.

But ever since Henry’s birth she had changed her M.O., thinking holding back on violence was as good as going through anger management. The last time she had actually attacked his father, as far as Neal was aware of, had been over eight years ago. And his father still swore she wasn’t aiming the heavy clock at his head.

Mostly, his mother liked to scream and start petty fights, usually saying that Rumple was the reason Neal didn’t love her anymore. The louder (the more desperate she could make him to shut her up with pleas and promises and apologies) the better. The worst part was that his father accepted that as  _progress_.

At least now he had a bruise Neal could point to while making the same old speech. “Mom is not good to you, dad. Just come spend a few days with me. We can figure things out.” His father was getting tired. He could hear it in his voice every time he picked up the phone. Tonight, Neal might convince him to leave.

Neal parked in front of the house, right behind a motorcycle that seemed even more misplaced in that neighborhood than the yellow buggy he and Emma had bought together. The lights were all out, giving the impression that nobody was home, which was very unusual. At this time, his parents should be sitting down for dinner. The Cadillac was in front of the garage, as was his mother’s SUV, so they had to be inside.

Neal got out of the car. He still had the keys, maybe he could catch his mother doing something horrible that would only help prove his point. But half-way through the front yard, he looked at the Cadillac again.

His father was sitting behind the wheel.

Neal knocked on the window.

Rumple turned quickly and his eyes doubled in size when he spotted his son.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice muffled by the glass.

Neal draw a circle in the air with his index finger, signaling for his father to lower the window.

When he did, Neal asked, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Rumple mimicked, still looking a little too pale.

“Surprise visit from your only son. Aren’t you happy?”

“Graham called you.”

“Actually, I called him. Is that from mom’s last scandal?” Neal pointed at the little bruise on his chin. It was so small he wouldn’t have spotted it if he wasn’t looking at his father’s face attentively, searching for little details like that.

Rumple looked away. “It’s nothing. It’s alright now.”

Neal eyed the house. His father made a sudden motion, as if he was about to say something, but decided against it.

Neal frowned. “Why are you outside?”

“Lets go to Granny’s.”

“Why?”

“Just to talk.”

His tone was too casual.

Neal walked around the car and got inside. But when his father tried to start the engine, he reached for the key and pulled it out of the ignition.

“Bae-” Rumple tried.

Neal didn’t give him the chance. “What happened?”

“Nothing! I just want-”

“What. Happened.”

Neal spoke firmly. A tone that wasn’t much different from the one he used with Henry whenever he needed to be scolded.

Sometimes his father gave him a glare and a not so gentle reminder that  _he_ was the parent in that relationship, and not the other way around. Would he mind getting off his high horse and show his father some respect?

Tonight, he just shook his head. “Nothing  _happened_  Bae.”

“You don’t want to go inside the house,” Neal stated. “Which makes me think that either you don’t want me to see mom, or you’re too scared to face mom yourself. Which one is it?”

At first, he didn’t answer. But after a moment, Rumple sighed. “I don’t know, I’m probably being- It must be nothing.”

“Then lets go inside.”

His father didn’t move.

Neal looked at the house. At first glance, all lights seemed to be turned off, but now he could see the light in the master bedroom was on. Not all of them, just one. Probably a bedside lamp.

“Is mom even home?” Neal asked.

Rumple hesitated, but answered, “Yes.”

“And did she really do nothing?”

Another moment of hesitation before repeating, “Yes.”

“Then why don’t you want to go inside?”

Rumple closed his eyes, clearly weighing pros and cons. Neal gave him time to figure out what he wanted to do.

Finally, his father pleaded, “You can’t get mad when I tell you.”

“Why would I get mad?” Neal asked, already sounding edgy.

“I think your mother is in my bedroom.”

“So?”

“I think there’s someone with her.”

Neal jumped out of the car.

His father screamed for him to wait, but he didn’t listen.

The front door was unlocked, which was a good thing because Neal felt like kicking it down. He climbed the stairs two steps at a time and opened the bedroom door with such violence it slammed against the wall.

He couldn’t have had more than one second to register what was going on, but it was enough. His mother lying on her stomach, head tilted back. The young man on top of her, teeth pulling at her ear.

Then Milah saw him and screamed.

The man’s curse words soon followed.

The rustle of the sheets to cover bear skin.

The many, “Neal, I can explain, I swear I can,” Milah tried to convince him with.

And, finally, the sorrowful “Oh, my god,” from his father’s breathless lips when he finally caught up with his son.

For a moment, all four people said nothing.

Then, his father walked out, his steps a little too unsteady.

Milah said, “Rumple-”

“Don’t even!” Neal barked.

“Hey, mate, take it easy!” the other man said, an accent Neal was too angry to identify.

“Shut it!” There were clothes on a nearby table – leather jacket, jeans, boots – Neal grabbed a handful of fabric and threw it at the other man’s face. “Get dressed.”

He eyed Milah.

Before she could give her consent, Neal threatened, “I will drag you out of this house in twenty seconds. It’s up to you if you’ll be wearing clothes.”

He looked more than ready to take Neal up on that challenge, but Milah said, “Killian, just go.” And his countenance softened.

He asked, “Are you going to be okay?”

“She’ll be fine!” Neal said, though he wanted nothing more than to drag  _her_  naked out of the house. “She’s lucky I didn’t take after her cruelty!”

Milah’s eyes watered. She pleaded with her lover again, “Please, Killian, just leave. We need to talk.”

Killian didn’t look convinced, but he put the jeans and jacket on and carried the rest with him downstairs, giving Neal an angry glare when he passed him by.

Neal did every trick he knew to calm himself down, from counting to 100 to pacing the room, but it wasn’t working.

Milah said, “I know what you’re thinking.”

Neal looked up. She was wrapped up in the sheet, a strand of her curly black hair fallen over her eye, her gaze low and full of regret. It was such a pathetic thing to watch, and it only made him more furious.

“I’m thinking you’re a cheating whore,” Neal said, through gritted teeth.

As predicted, she started to cry. She always did when Neal caught her doing something she wasn’t supposed to. She probably thought it would help her case, but it never did.  _Looking_ sorry might work on her husband, but it didn’t work on her son.

“Can you please call your dad so we can talk this through?” she asked.

“No,” he said.

To Milah’s surprise, he advanced towards her and she feared he might slap her or worse. But instead Neal dropped to his knees and pulled one of suitcase they kept under the bed.

“What are you doing?” she asked, sounding terrified for the first time that Neal could remember.

“Dad!” he called out. “Come here!”

Neal unzipped the suitcase, then opened the closet. He opened drawers and pushed the hangers around, choosing articles of clothing quickly. Shirts, socks, pants, underwear. They didn’t have to match, they just had to be clean and easy to shove in a bag. His father returned to the room when Neal was pushing two pairs of black shoes through the zipper, as an afterthought.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I don’t know!” Milah replied, lachrymose.

Her husband focused wet eyes on her face, but didn’t bother to address her.

“Bae, what are you doing?”

Neal finally managed to close the zipper and lifted the suitcase. “We’re leaving.  _Now_.”

“ _What_?” Milah cried out from the bed, still clutching that sheet as if any demonstration of modesty could atone for her most recent sin. “No! Neal, honey, you- we just need to talk-”

“ _Now_ , dad!” he barked, marching to the door without giving his mother a second glance.

“Rumple, just tell him,” she pleaded, though Rumple refused to look her in the eye again. “Just tell him that we can talk this through!”

“Dad, I  _swear_ , if you don’t come with me  _right now_  I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you to New York myself. You are not spending another  _second_  with this woman.”

Milah started sobbing. “Neal, honey, please! I know we can figure this out-”

“Shut up!”

“I just made a mistake-”

“I – said – shut –  _up_!”

Neal dropped the suitcase on the floor and advanced towards his mother. As usual, his father intervene.

“No, Bae! No!” he shouted, jumping between the two of them. “No, it’s okay, I’ll go with you! I’ll go with you!”

Milah dropped her eyes to the ground to cry quietly and said nothing else.

Neal huffed furiously, but stopped pushing. He picked the suitcase from the floor with one hand and took his father’s hand with the other, pulling him out of the room and away from his mother as quickly as Rumple’s limp would allow them.

“Do you want to take the Caddy?” Neal asked when they reached the front yard.

Rumple gave the house a longing look.

“Dad!” Neal all but shouted, snapping him back to reality. “Do you want to take the Caddy or not?”

In a quiet voice, he answered, “I don’t really care.”

The lack of enthusiasm didn’t seem to bother his son. “Then we’re taking the buggy. Get in.”

His father didn’t move.

Neal called him again.

Rumple said, “I think she drank too much-”

Neal cut in before the excuse fully left his lips. “She did not. I couldn’t smell booze on her. I could smell  _plenty_  on him. In fact, if I had to take a guess on who was being taken advantage of in that room, mom wouldn’t be my first choice.”

Rumple stared at him, searching his mind for any other justification he could find.

 _God, what is_ wrong _with him?_ , Neal thought.

Despite the blood rushing to his head and the overwhelming need to just pull his father inside the car and lock the doors before he had the chance to escape, Neal took a deep breath.

“Papa, listen to me,” he said, trying to sound rational. “She didn’t simply cheat on you. She brought another man into your house, into  _your_  bed, at the time you usually come home. She has her own bedroom, dad. This was not just a stupid mistake she did because she drank too much; she did it on purpose because she wanted to  _hurt_  you. She hurts you all – the – time.”

His father said nothing, but judging by the heartbreak in his eyes his words were finally sinking in.

“You tried, dad. You gave it your best shot, but it didn’t work. You can’t save your marriage if mom doesn’t pull her weight, and she  _clearly_  doesn’t want to.”

Rumple swallowed a lump in his throat and whispered, “Yes.”

Neal looked at him full of hope. “Yes?”

“Yes, you’re right.”

“And you’re coming with me to New York?”

Hesitation.

Then, a nod.

“Oh, Papa,” Neal sighed, pulling him into a tight hug. “Oh, Papa, thank you.  _Thank you_.”

“I don’t know what to do now,” Rumple confessed, still tearful.

“We’ll figure it out together,” he said, opening the passenger door for him. “You’ll see. It’s a good thing.”

Neal drove away fast, fearing a moment too long in front of the house might be all his father needed to change his mind.

Beside him, Rumple observed his home reflected on the wing mirror. It disappeared so fast he was still staring at the mirror with a yearning look, long after they left town.


	2. There's No Starting Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is long and I am very sorry. Belle/Rumbelle plays a very tiny role in it, but they’re both there.
> 
> TW for abusive relationship, self-esteem issues, and “Rumple can’t have nice things for long”.

They stopped for dinner and a bed in a little motel just outside of Boston. Neal was tired as hell and his father didn’t seem fit to take over the wheel, still looking bewildered at what had just happened. Neal instructed the front desk not to give their names to anyone, no matter who they claimed to be, and paid the extra twenty dollars to put his car in the garage, instead of the parking lot.

As soon as they were done with the tasteless pasta they got from room service, Neal tried to pry a reaction from his dad. If he broke down sobbing on his shoulder it would be much better than the melancholy silence that could turn into regret at any moment. But Rumple ate quietly, dodged all his questions, and simply said, “If you don’t mind, I think I need to sleep now.”

Much to Neal’s surprise, he started snoring as soon as his head hit the pillow. He had expected his father to toss and turn all night, but maybe he was just as exhausted of living with his mother as Neal had imagined; not having to worry about what Milah would do next must have been a weight off his shoulders.

“And he is hurt,” he told Emma over the phone as soon as his father dozed off. “I think he doesn’t  _want_ to worry about mom right now.”

“That’s a good thing,” Emma sighed in his ear. “You think it’s over then?”

“It has to be! The whole reasoning behind him staying with her was that she was trying. Now he knows she isn’t.”

He went quiet.

“Neal?”

“You’re lucky you weren’t there,” he said, looking over his shoulder to see if his father had opened the bedroom door when he wasn’t looking. “She was doing it on purpose. She was just waiting for him to come home and catch her in the act.”

“Why would she even do that? She wouldn’t risk him leaving her and losing everything just to hurt your father. We both know she already has enough ways of doing that.”

Neal had been thinking about that too ever since they left Storybrooke. The only conclusion he reached was, “Because he wouldn’t have left her anyway.”

Something in his voice made Emma go quiet and wait for him to vent.

“He was just sitting there, Emma. If I hadn’t caught her, he’d just go about his business like nothing ever happened.”

“He loves her, Neal,” Emma said, as if it were that simple. He could almost see her shrug.

“That’s not love.”

“I’m not arguing that. But he thinks it is, which can be even more dangerous.”

“Right, well, we’re getting him a therapist, along with a divorce lawyer. Whatever it takes. He won’t go back into that house while she’s still there, not this time.”

“I’ll get Henry’s bedroom ready.”

Although Neal and Emma shared a three bedroom apartment, Rumple usually slept in Henry’s bottom bunk. That was mostly because he never stayed longer than one week and wanted to spend as much of that time with his grandson as he could. Besides, Neal used the spare room as his studio and sometimes he’d work well into the night. But Neal had the feeling his father’s stay would be a lot longer this time, so he offered to put a mattress in his studio and move his art supplies to the living room.

“Just while you’re with us. You can be more comfortable this way,” he explained, as they approached New York the next day.

“I’m comfortable with Henry,” his father answered, still sounding too calm, almost numb to what was happening around him.

“Yes, but this isn’t a weekend, dad. You should think about the long run. Divorce is usually a messy business.”

His father didn’t say a word.

“Dad?”

“Guess I’m getting divorced, then.”

“ _Aren’t_  you?”

Rumple shrugged.

“I understand that this is very sudden,” Neal said, “but do you really think you can go back to living with mom after what she did?”

Rumple went quiet again.

Neal continued, “I know that you’re trying to rationalize it. That you think you somehow brought this on yourself, but it was her choice. She clearly doesn’t want to be with you anymore.”

Neal expected blunt honesty would get some sort of reaction out of him. When it didn’t, he pushed a little more, “You’re not doing yourself any favors. Or her for that matter. I mean, think of-”

“Yes, alright,” he said, finally. “I see your point.”

Neal could see he was only saying that to make him stop talking, but to hear it was a relief nonetheless. It was a way in. Neal gave him a moment of peace and, when he spoke again, his tone was much softer. “I’m not saying you have to do it right now. Just spend some days with us, get a break from mom and all her crap. See what your options are. I have a friend who’s a divorce lawyer and she said she can explain the whole process if you’d like. She could represent you, if it comes to it.”

Rumple turned his head slowly to look at his son. Neal braced himself for the imminent question (“How long have you been planning my own divorce, Baelfire?”) and focused his eyes on the road, ready to stand his ground. But his father gave up the fight before it started by saying, “Would it put your heart at ease if I met your friend?”

“It would.”

Rumple nodded. “Alright. No strings attached.”

“Of course.”

“To see my options. Before I make any decisions.”

“It’s the smart thing to do.” Neal paused before the next question. “Did mom call?”

“She did not.”

“Okay, that’s a good thing. And did you-”

“We have three hours to go,” Rumple said, making Neal frown.

“I’m sorry?”

“We have three hours to go, and that is if we don’t run into any traffic between here and New York, which would be a miracle on its own. I’d appreciate it if we could talk about something other than my current situation for the next three hours. Would that be possible?”

Neal answered, “Sure,” as if changing the subject would be the easiest thing in the world. But Neal couldn’t think of anything other than how lucky he was to finally take his father out of the house, and how he was  _this close_  to putting an end to 28 years of abuse, if only he could keep his father focused and not have his mind wander too far and find a way to blame himself and excuse Milah’s behavior. It had been so hard to get this far. “Are you… excited to see Henry?”

“I am,” Rumple answered, though his voice was lacking any emotion.

Neal nodded, “Good. What are you planning on doing this time? Central Park Zoo or… what?”

Small talk was short lived. After a few attempts that lacked the needed enthusiasm on his part for the conversation to stick, as well as his father’s uninterested and short replies, Neal gave up and tuned on the radio to a random news station. Those were sure to keep his father busier than his rock’n’roll tapes.

Rumple didn’t crack a smile until Henry came running to his arms, shouting, “ _Grandadgrandadgrandad_!”

“Look at you!” he said, giving Henry a tight hug and lifting him off the ground the best he could with one arm. “You’re so big, laddie.”

“He’s heavy too,” Emma said. “Kid, get off your Grandad. You’ll have the whole weekend to break him in half, no need to do it on the first day.”

“Oh, I can take him, dearie,” Rumple said, already putting Henry down. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Yeah, Mom, Grandad is strong.”

“How perceptive your son’s becoming,” he told Emma, giving her a hug.

“Indeed, just like his mother,” she said, hugging him a little tighter than she usually did. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Rumple was thankful when Henry started bouncing and pulling his hand, thus keeping him from having to provide an answer to that. “Are you really staying all weekend, Grandad?”

Neal said, “Grandad is actually staying longer than that, Henry.”

Henry’s eyes doubled in size. “ _Really_?”

Though the question was directed to his Grandfather, Neal was the one to answer, “Yes, he’ll spend a few weeks with us. Why don’t you help him unpack? I’m taking everyone out for pizza to celebrate.”

“Come, Henry,” Rumple said, though it was Henry who pulled him by the hand, rushing to the bedroom as fast as Grandad’s cane would allow him. “Do you still have a bunk for me, or will one of us have to sleep on the couch this time?”

*

It was five days before Rumple forced himself to face his new reality. Though “forced himself” was a bit too generous. More like couldn’t find anything else to distract his mind with and  _had_  to face his new reality.

Bae had kept him busy with his intrusive questioning from Storybrooke to New York. And now there was a hyperactive eight-year-old to play with; normally, Henry would wear his Grandad out by the second day and he’d have to call David for help. But quietness was the last thing Rumple needed and Henry’s endless rambling was a welcomed change.

He thought that, once he was alone in his bed and the house was silent, he’d have no choice but to lie sleepless and consider his limited options. But as it turned out, he barely had time to remember Milah’s face before drifting away to a dreamless sleep. Not that he didn’t think back to that night enough during the day. No matter what he was doing, be it talking to Emma or playing with Henry, the feeling of shame from walking in on his wife with another man refused to be forgotten. And Baelfire poked that wound quite often, asking how he was feeling and what did he want to do about it?

He had no idea how he was feeling. Heartbroken, yes, he supposed so. You don’t find your wife bedding a twenty-something-year-old and leave with your ego unbruised. But he couldn’t say he was surprised. However shocking it might have been, it had also been expected, predicted even. He knew she was having an affair and had been too much of a coward to confront her. Now he had found out about it the worst possible way.

 _She was waiting for me_ , he thought.  _Bae was right. She wanted me to find out. She wanted to end this marriage on her terms_.

Rumple knew it would be over if he discovered the truth. Why else did he sit in his car for almost an hour, refusing to go inside? Now there was no point in pretending he could eventually regain the love of his wife. Milah had moved on.

If he had to be completely honest – and he’d never admit that out loud to Bae – there was a small part of him that was actually relieved Milah put an end to the mess that was their marriage. He hated that she had to set everything on fire and burn it to the ground for it to be over, but they had been tiptoeing around the end for years now, long before Biker, and long before Cora. He felt like a coward for not breaking the relationship himself, lord knows he’d have done it much more quietly and they could both have walked away with their dignities intact. But it was over now, no point dwelling on ifs and hows.

As for what he wanted to do, he still had no idea. That was the main reason he allowed Neal to drive him to see the lawyer on Monday morning, even though all that talk about divorce made his skin crawl.

The lawyer was a 5'3’’ blonde girl called Tina, a partner of  _Bell, Nibs & Curly_. The names were announced in big golden letters on the door, and while the office itself was small, someone had gone to great lengths to make it look very intimidating, probably to make it up for the fact that Tina looked even younger than Bae. Still, she sounded very confident and addressed him respectfully, as if he was the one making the decisions, no matter how many times Bae interrupted him, either to correct his father’s account of that dreadful night or offer his own opinions on what he should do. She went as far as to offer him a cigarette along with the coffee, which he accepted without thinking twice.

When Bae tutted, “Dad, you really shouldn’t.”

Tina scolded, “It’s his lungs, Neal. Chill.”

“Yes, Neal.  _C_ _hill_ ,” Rumple said, taking a deep drag. Bae sighed, but refrained from making any other comments.

Rumple hadn’t smoked in over ten years, but if there ever was a moment to regain bad habits, that was it.

“Is that the whole situation?” Tina asked him.

Rumple breathed out smoke and said, “Yes.”

He expected Neal to interrupt again and start exposing Milah’s long list of sins, surely his son had them in chronological  _and_  alphabetical order. To be fair, it was probably relevant to the case to portray Milah as a violent wife, and that wouldn’t be hard to do. There was the clock she threw at him once. The fight in the pub, not two weeks before. The time she punched Bae.

 _God, please, don’t let Bae talk about_ why _she punched him._

But his son remained quiet.

“Your father left you everything, is that right?” Tina asked.

 _Lets bring him into the conversation, why don’t we?_ , he thought. The next drag he took out of the cigarette was a greedy one. Covered in smoke, he nodded.

Tina said, “Very well. The way I see it you can do this two ways. We could claim everything you own is personal property, and not marital property, since it was part of your father’s inheritance. We hire accountants to do the math and separate what is yours and what is hers, and her lawyer will probably fight us on that. We’ll battle over assets for months, bring out prove of her indiscretions, and if she is the troublemaker Neal makes her out to be,” Bae cleared his throat discreetly. Tina didn’t stop. “I can see this whole thing ending in a year or two, possibly even more. At the end, you’ll probably be favored in property distribution, but you’ll still have to pay alimony for a few years. Unless she’s ready to move in with her new lover, but that is never the case.”

Rumple nodded again. That seemed unnecessarily long, not to mention unpleasant. Bae was probably right, Milah  _would_  drag everything out as much as she could. He couldn’t even think about how it would feel to face her in court over and over, until they had split the last tablespoon in the house.

“What is the other option?” he asked.

“I assess everything you have, split it in half, and tell her she’ll get her fair share if she leaves quietly. If she’s a smart woman, she’ll take it and cause no trouble. She knows she screwed up and taking this to court could mean she’ll lose everything. If your wife agrees to that, we file for a no fault divorce and everything will be over in a couple of months, depending on the Court’s schedule.”

Rumple nodded. That wasn’t appealing either.

Tina must have sensed his reluctance, because she told him, “If you think there’s a chance for reconciliation-” Bae opened his mouth, but Tina raised a finger and he shut up. She had to teach him how to do that. “If you think there’s a chance for reconciliation, I’d be more than happy to, say, arrange a meeting with your wife to see where you both stand. Maybe what you need is a good talk.”

“You people do that?” Rumple asked, crushing the cigarette stub in the ashtray.

“Sure,” Tina said. “It’s no couple’s therapy, but if you’d like to meet her to assess the future of your relationship, it might end up being helpful to us.”

“There is no future of their relationship,” Neal said, coldly. “We caught her cheating, it can’t get any worst than that.”

“Yes, thank you for your input, Neal,” Tina said, forcing a sweet tone into her voice. “But this isn’t your marriage.”

“It’s my parents, though. I think I’m allowed to be concerned.”

“And I think you might want to wait outside.”

Rumple firmed his cane on the floor and pushed himself up. “No need. I think that’s all I needed to hear, Ms. Bell. Thank you for the consultation. And the cigarette. How much do I owe you?”

“I can’t charge a friend for a consultation, can I?”

Rumple smirked. “Don’t lawyers charge for everything?”

She smiled back. “I hope you don’t think I’m a crappy lawyer because of that.”

Hands were shaken and promises to keep in touch were exchanged. Tina offered him the rest of her cigarettes because, according to her, he looked like he needed it. Neal followed his father out looking much more displeased than when they had entered the office.

“You’re not smoking that,” he told him when they reached the parking lot. “And what was all that crap about reconciliation? I thought we were past that.”

“Aren’t you the one who told me to check my options?” Rumple argued.

“Options to leave mom, not get back together.”

“You’re overreacting.”

Neal huffed, but didn’t answer.

“I’ll have to talk to your mother eventually,” Rumple argued.

“Why?” Neal challenged his father from the other side of the bright yellow hood of the buggy. “You get lawyers for that. Besides, if mom wanted to get back together, she’d have called, which she didn’t.”

Rumple pinched the bridge of his nose and silently thanked Tina for the pack of cigarettes.

“Bae, listen to me,” he begged. “I’m not in any state to make big decisions regarding anything, let alone this. I’ve been here three days and you’d sign the divorce papers for me if you could.”

“I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that.”

“Will you please stop?” he snapped. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’ve made the decision to stay here with you for as long as I need to. And it is clear that your mother doesn’t want me anymore, as you so bluntly put it. But I am not jumping into this without weighing my options. It would be reckless, not to mention petty.”

Bae stared at him.

“I just want to clear my head for a few days. Then I’ll think about what I want to do.”

“Do you  _promise_  you won’t go back?” Bae asked, and now it was his voice that was on the verge of begging.

“I promise,” he answered, looking into his son’s eyes to let him know he meant it. “I just want to clear my head for a few days.”

Seemed like a simple enough plan and, for forty eight hours more, it seemed to be working fine.

Life with his son’s family was an uneventful one, but that was far from being a complaint. Rumple appreciated their simple routine, as well as the fact that neither Bae or Emma were easily upset. And there was Henry, who treated him as if he was the most special person in the universe and refused to leave his side for a moment. Maybe Rumple was too old to think things like that, but he missed having children in the house. The idea of spending more time with his grandson was not an unpleasant one, regardless of the situation.

Forty eight hours.

Then Milah called. It was his fifth night in New York and, luckily, he had encouraged Bae and Emma to have a date night. If Bae had been in the house, he might have answered the phone to yell at his mother. Or he might have broken the phone.

Rumple reached for it immediately, a knee jerk reflex. Milah didn’t appreciate to be kept waiting and an extra minute not answering her calls usually raised all kinds of questions and accusations. But he didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

If he felt relief at all, it was short lived, instantly defeated by the sad knowledge that Milah didn’t care anymore. She had found another man – a  _real_  man. One who was actually interested in taking her to bed and didn’t respond to her touch with excuses and a crippling sense of dread. She was probably making plans herself by now. This was Milah calling to tell him to, please, talk to her solicitor from now on and avoid any kind of contact with her and what’s-his-name.

“Grandad, aren’t you answering it?”

Rumple glanced at Henry, then clicked the red button on his phone. “No.”

“Is that Granny?” he asked.

“Yes,” Rumple said.

“Are you two having a fight?”

“Somewhat.”

“Why?”

“Grown ups fight sometimes, Henry.”

“You should buy her flowers.”

Rumple smiled. “I don’t think flowers will do this time.”

“Why?”

“Henry, why don’t we play a game?” Rumple asked, trying to sound as positive as he was beginning to feel that morning. “I haven’t been here in three months. I bet David gave you a new video game, or something equally noisy to play with.”

“I have a  _Harry Potter Lego_. It’s really easy, Grandad, even you can play.”

“My, thank you, loving grandson, for not doubting my capacity to assemble blocks.”

Henry giggled. “It’s a video game, Grandad.”

Rumple blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

By the time Neal and Emma got home, Henry was asleep and Rumple was still bewildered at the fact that everything was now electronic, even  _Lego_. It might be silly, but that simple fact , combined with Milah’s name flashing on the cellphone screen, was enough to open the gate and allow all his worries to flood his mind at once.

Everything was digital now. He didn’t even  _like_  computers. He liked old things, things with a history. He wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but to sit behind the counter in his shop and tell the odd customer the secrets behind an old necklace was a small pleasure.

How was he supposed to work outside of Storybrooke? He had no skills, no formal education whatsoever. His job for the past twenty five years had been to collect rent and sell old things. That was it. If he did get divorced, and he did move in with Bae, what was he to do in New York?

He’d have to stay in Storybrooke and face the gossip, the sneering, the mockery. Milah would probably get the house, which suited him well. He never cared much for that house, would gladly have moved if his wife and Bae didn’t love it so much. But the thought of her sharing it with her new lover, the thought of him moving into the house and making her happy, much happier than he ever could, and then parading their relationship for the town to see and talk about…

_Oh, how happy Mrs. Gold looks now!_

_She’s not Mrs. Gold anymore._

_My my, no wonder she’s smiling so much._

_Have you seen the new boyfriend?_

_And what happened to Mr. Gold?_

_I don’t know, he’s probably still in his shop._

_Ha! He always treasured his trinkets more than his wife._

_I bet she won’t be so mad now._

_I think it’s safe to say she’ll better off without him._

Rumple covered his face with his hands. What was he to do? There was nothing for him in New York, but he couldn’t handle being alone in Storybrooke, especially if Milah was still there. And she  _would_  be, even if she got half his assets in the divorce. She was hurt now, but it was so easy for her to turn pain into cruelty. She’d love nothing more than to show Biker off. Damn if it made her look bad, it would make  _him_  look even worse.

Eventually, she’d move away, see the world or whatever she wanted to do with Biker. Rumple would stay behind and tend to his shop and collect rent and try not to punch somebody when they tried to pry information out of him with false sympathy. Bae was probably going to offer to move in with him and help him through it, but he had Emma and Henry and his own job. Besides, Bae didn’t want to be in Storybrooke. Who’d want to once they tasted New York City?

They were all leaving, the youth. Mostly for college, and those who couldn’t afford it were always saving money to get a bus ticket to Anywhere But There. Ruby was like that, though she had hopes to find a rich husband and make it out of there the easier way. Graham sometimes talked about transferring somewhere else, his mother being the only thing keeping him in town. And there was Moe’s daughter, Belle, who had left to Australia the moment the opportunity arose.

It had been a funny thing, that one. Most kids left slowly, making a lot of plans and putting together all kinds of goodbye parties. However, Belle left quietly and without telling anyone. One morning he arrived at the library and, upon asking Mrs. Hare where was Belle and could she help him find his way through the bookshelves as usual, the old lady snorted and said, “The ungrateful brat is gone. Moved to Sidney, or somewhere else.”

The day Bae left the house to go to New York had hurt, but he had been expecting and dreading that day for as long as he could remember. It is natural to say goodbye to your children eventually, and he drove his son to the airport the way parents always did: trying to put on a brave face to give them courage, and trying not to cry too much once they were gone.

But the day Belle left stung just as much, maybe a little more because it had been so unexpected. They only ever interacted in the library, or exchanging the occasional “how do you do?” at Granny’s. But she was a good girl, very attached to her family and her hometown. Rumple thought she’d be there forever, helping him find books when he was too old to reach for the shelves himself. As it turned out, Belle, just as everybody else, couldn’t wait to get away from small town life.

Storybrooke was for the old and the obsolete, the people who were stuck in time.

The people who should be forgotten.

Like himself.


	3. Heal Your Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have Maddie to thank to, for correcting all my mistakes and listening to me complain and whine about how hard it is to write.
> 
> TW for abusive relationship, self-esteem issues, and Milah being her manipulative little self.

To Baelfire’s credit, he was making an effort not to look so frustrated at his indecision. All he wanted was for his father to come up to him and declare he was ready to take Milah to court and fight for every penny until she was left with nothing but the memory of her mistakes. But since Rumple didn’t want to go anywhere near the word divorce and refused to talk about that night or his mother or  _anything_ , he was left with halfhearted chitchat while Bae clearly struggled not to pressure him into making a decision. Thank god for Henry wanting to spend as much time with Grandad as he could. The boy was a good excuse to stay away from Bae and, as of lately, Emma.

As a rule, Emma was just as private as him, which, in his opinion, made her good company. On the rare occasions they had been together and forced to talked to each other, their conversations usually centered on Henry, her parents, or Bae. She had learned never to ask after his wife and, if she noticed he was in any kind of pain or seemed to be particularly melancholy, she was kind enough to act as if things were normal, though she was bound to report her impressions to Baelfire. She might be good company, but she was a better girlfriend.

This time, however, Emma was being, for lack of a better word,  _affectionate_ , and that was the most disturbing of all things. Not that she was unfeeling or callous, but affection didn’t come easily to her. Henry was her only exception, she’d hug him and kiss him and ruffle his hair until the lad squirmed away from her. With the rest of the world, she was cautious.

The fact that Rumple looked and acted so formal actually made their relationship easier. It was good to interact with someone who didn’t expect her to become their immediate best friend. Despite having his explicit permission to call him Rumple, she usually stuck to Mr. Gold because the title provided a comfortable distance.

He thought a tight hug was as far as she’d go to make him feel welcomed, but he was wrong. She asked if Henry’s bottom bunk was comfortable enough every morning, insisted he ate everything on his plate, and asked if he needed her to pick up anything every time she left the apartment. For Emma, that was as good as coddling him with warm blankets and offering butterfly kisses.

When the second week was over and he was no closer to knowing what he wanted than when he first left Storybrooke, Rumple announced he’d be cooking from there on. He justified himself by claiming he was home all day anyway, might as well make himself a useful guest. Truth was, if Emma kept on cooking absurd amounts of food and insisting, “Oh, but surely you can eat one more pancake, Mr. Gold!” the inner asshole he reserved for difficult tenants would come out and possibly stuff said pancakes down her throat.

The quietness of the kitchen was a nice change of pace. Usually, silence only brought up bad thoughts – the latest insecurity was wondering if the rest of Storybrooke had already noticed him gone and what was each and every person saying by now. But it was good to have something to occupy his hands with. To make sure he’d have to stay concentrated, he chose one of his aunt’s most complicated dishes: meat pies. Between crust, filling and side dishes, he’d have a lot of quiet time for himself, but also no time to waste on petty distractions.

When Emma popped her head inside the kitchen, he dismissed her with a friendly, “No, no, dearie. Kitchen is mine. You go handle the troublemaker yourself tonight.”

“Doesn’t look like a fair trade,” she said, in good nature. “I get the heavy duty and you make pies.”

“Life is often unfair.”

“Isn’t it?” She came inside anyway.

“Emma…” he started.

She said, “I’m just getting the plates to set the table.”

“Use the fancy china. What did I give you that for?”

“I told you it was a waste of money.”

“Civilized people have china, dearie. You have to set a good example for Henry.”

She laughed, but didn’t budge.

After ignoring her for a few minutes, kneading the dough with furious hands, he gave up any chance that she’d leave and asked, “Is there anything else you need?”

“I was thinking we could have dinner with my parents this Monday,” she said. “Dad wants a drinking buddy and mom said she’d give you a break from cooking if you need it. And you haven’t seen them in months.”

He shrugged. “Sure. Tell David I’ll bring good Scotch.”

“He’s counting on it.”

“As always.”

Emma nodded. “As always.” And continued not to move.

“Emma, I’ve got this, you really don’t have to stay.”

“Neal is worried.”

Rumple stopped working the dough and sighed. There it was. The coddling.

“Emma,” he started saying, but she raised one hand.

“No, just-just let me get this out. He’s worried and I know there’s no reason to because things are serious this time, and I don’t want you to feel pressured into making a decision before you feel ready-”

“Emma-” he tried again, eyes staring at the dough in his hands and refusing to look at her. Knowing Emma, she probably appreciated that.

She said, “No, please, I just want you to know that, if you think I have a problem with it, with you moving here and living with us for a while, and that’s keeping you from making a decision, well, you don’t have to worry. We’re family. This is your apartment too, as far as I’m concerned.”

She stopped talking and waited for him to say something.

“Right,” he finally answered. “I know.”

“Good,” Emma nodded, rubbing her hands as if to wash the awkwardness off. “Good that you know. I mean it.”

“I need to…” he lifted the dough off the counter and plopped it down again.

“Food, yes. I’ll get the China.”

Emma turned on her heels quickly and hurried out of the kitchen, as if all the courage she had to muster had left her the moment her little speech was over.

Once the silence returned to the kitchen and that uncomfortable tightness in his chest subsided, Rumple felt himself smile a little. Emma was a good girl. And she did sound very honest. Yes, she was probably just trying to make her boyfriend happy, it was not like she was looking forward to spending time with him, but that had been a kind offer on her part.

By Monday, she had switched back to her usual disposition: “I like you, but there’s no need to make a big deal out of it.” Which was a relief. If he was forced to spend an evening surrounded by smiling family members, all very concerned about him, he might buy a plane ticket back home that very night.

Not that David and Mary Margaret were unpleasant people. Far from it. He knew he liked them the first time they had shared dinner as a soon to be family, despite the situation being far from ideal. Emma had just announced an unexpected pregnancy to her parents and Rumple had come to New York to help solve the situation – without Milah. If she got her hands on that mess before a solution had been agreed on, there was no telling what would happen. Bae had been nineteen years old and Rumple couldn’t remember a time he had yelled more at his son. As far as he was concerned, Bae was now set to end just like himself. What if the girl’s parents wanted to press for marriage? Or for Bae to quit art school and start working full time?

However, as soon as the five of them sat down to talk, Mary Margaret began their family meeting by announcing, “Let me start by saying this: if anybody at this table is thinking about dropping out of college, that person better think twice before opening his or her mouth, because they  _will_  get slapped. You’ve been warned.”

Rumple knew, then and there, that he had nothing to worry about on Emma’s side of the family. It also helped that they were a very young couple, barely a decade older than Emma – that had made the whole adoption process a nightmare, they told him, but it was worth it.

They always tried to squeeze in a family dinner when Rumple was in town. He wasn’t in a particularly social mood lately, but he still picked a bottle of wine and a bottle of Scotch, as it was tradition, and allowed David to pour them a generous dose. Bae, who usually stuck to the wine, stole a few sips from his glass, but grimaced as the liquid burned his throat.

“What kind of Scottish are you?” David asked.

“I’m half English,” Neal said, defensively. “Though that only shows when I drink.”

“It also shows when you try to do the accent,” Rumple said.

“I’m getting better, though.”

It was his father’s turn to grimace.

“I am!” Neal said. “I’ll show you later. Just let me get some beer in my system.”

He left for the kitchen.

David turned to him and asked, “So, speaking of half English, how’s the wife?”

Rumple shrugged. “She’s fine.”

“Good. How long are you staying in New York?”

Rumple narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re not very subtle, are you?”

“Right,” David said, apologetic. “No, I suppose I’m not.”

“Did Emma tell you?”

“About the divorce? Yes. But she was vague.”

“I can imagine.”

“She wasn’t gossiping, or anything.”

“I know.”

Rumple drank the Scotch slowly and quietly, leaving David to figure out what would be the next logical step to getting him to open up. Mary Margaret had probably asked him to be nice.

“He’s getting divorced, David. Maybe you should talk about it. He might need a friend.”

Yes. That sounded like her.

“So,” David continued, apparently having decided on a course of action. “If you’re staying in New York for a while, I should take you sight seeing.”

Rumple raised a hand. “I’m good. Henry takes me to the Central Park regularly and I won’t be caught dead watching a musical. Other than that, I cannot think of one thing worth seeing in New York.”

“I was actually thinking of bars,” David said. “Much better than getting in endless lines with tourists. You should come with me and the guys some time.”

Rumple wondered about “the guys”. David was a Sargent and all his friends were probably boasting police officers in their thirties. Not exactly the kind of people he was used to hanging out with.

Then again, he was not used to hanging out with anybody.

“Does your wife allow you to go pub hopping, Mr. Nolan?” he said, so he wouldn’t have to answer.

“Sure. Sometimes she even comes with us. You should see Mary Margaret throwing darts. She puts most of the guys and their wives to shame.”

Couples’ night. What a terrible image that was. Ten or twenty policemen and their wives, throwing darts, and himself watching at a safe distance, drinking his Scotch in silence as the happy couples shared a laugh.

When had been the last time him and Milah had done something fun together? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t even remember the last time they had gone into a bar together without terrible results. Not for the first time, Rumple felt the urge to ask David how did he manage to make his marriage work. Him and Mary Margaret had this fairy tale relationship that seemed bound to a happily ever after, and they made it look so effortless. But what was the point of asking for relationship advice now?

During dinner, Rumple allowed Emma and David to control the conversation and forced himself to laugh along, even though he wasn’t paying attention and didn’t understand half of their jokes. Once they were done, he offered to help Mary Margaret with the dishes. She insisted that he didn’t have to, but he was in no hurry to go back into the living room, where David was telling funny anecdotes and probably awaiting him with more friendship attempts.

Mary Margaret grabbed a dishcloth and offered to dry as he washed, to make everything faster.

At first, they were silent, but it didn’t take her long to say, “Emma explained that you’re going through a divorce right now.“

“Is there anybody in New York who doesn’t know I’m going through a  _bloody_ divorce?” he snapped, throwing the fork he was washing in the sink. When the tinkling of the metal died, he said, “I’m sorry, my dear, you didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s fine,” Mary Margaret answered in her usual soft voice. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t know it was a delicate subject.”

“Neal wants me to get a divorce,” he explained. “And he won’t hear of anything else.”

“And what do you want to do?”

_I want my wife and my shop and my home and my town-_

“I still don’t know.”

Mary Margaret nodded. “It’s a hard decision to make. She’s your wife, after all.”

“Yes. We have our problems, but…” He shook his head.

“It’s a sad truth that the ones we love are the ones capable of causing us the most pain.”

He turned around to hand her the last dish. “Who said that?”

“I don’t remember. Something I was told many years ago. A shrink probably.”

“Sounds like something a shrink would say.”

“Yes.” Mary Margaret worked the cloth on the plate slowly. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, emptying the glass of Scotch he had brought with himself into the kitchen and turning back to the sink to wash it. They went quiet for a moment, with nothing but the sound of water filling the kitchen. When the realization dawned on him, it escaped through his lips softly: “I need a divorce, don’t I?”

She said nothing, but Rumple knew her well enough to know she was very likely offering him an uncompromising shrug.

David came into the kitchen. “Hey, your son is trying the Scottish accent thing again. I’m afraid he might hurt himself.”

Rumple tried to smile at him. “Time to put him to bed.”

Bae wasn’t a big drinker. He enjoyed the occasional beer, and as a rule he only allowed himself to get drunk on his birthday. But it seemed he had made an exception that night, because he couldn’t walk a straight line without him or Emma to support him. That they managed to bring him upstairs and into the apartment without hurting themselves was a miracle on its own.

Rumple wondered if it had been the stress of his situation that had pushed him to drink so much, and he was about to feel guilty when Bae broke free of Emma and wrapped his arms around him.

“I love you, Papa,” Bae said. “So happy yer with us.”

“Yes, yes, I love you too, Bae,” he replied, struggling to maintain balance. “Now go to bed.”

“You’re so nice, daddy, I love you.” As if to prove a point, he planted a big kiss on his cheek.

“Emma, he’s calling me daddy,” he begged.

Emma giggled, but came to his rescue. “Yes, I’m just as disturbed as you are. Come here, you big baby, lets go to bed.”

The next morning, Rumple came into the studio with aspirin and a glass of water, correctly assuming his son would already be on his second cup of coffee.

“Did I do anything embarrassing last night?” he whined, rubbing his eyes and trying to focus on the page he was working on. “Emma said yes, but she won’t tell me what.”

“You repeatedly attempted to talk in a Scottish accent.”

“I’m sorry for shaming our proud heritage.”

“You also called me daddy.”

Bae opened his mouth, but gave up whatever argument he had. “I have no excuses for that.”

Rumple peeked over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“ _Not_  drawing.”

“Fun.”

Bae swiveled on his work stool to look at his father.

“Actually,” Bae said, in that cautious tone that warned Rumple of the difficult topic that was coming up again. “I was wondering if you’ve given any thought to making this your room.”

“It’s your studio. I don’t mind sharing with Henry. Unless the snoring is keeping him up.”

 _"Nothing_  keeps Henry up. That kid sleeps like a rock. Regardless, you’ll be staying here for a while, I thought that you might get more comfortable.”

Rumple nodded, but didn’t reply. He had no idea how Baelfire’s tiny studio could be turned into a comfortable room. It was the smallest room in the apartment, mostly taken over by an old couch his son sometimes napped on between creative outbursts. The other side was taken over by his drawing board. In between, the plastic drawers where he kept the art supplies. Not to mention the walls were taken over by his artwork.

When Rumple talked, his voice was also very cautious. “If I were to get divorced, how long do you think it’d take?”

Bae made an effort not to sound too hopeful when he said, “You know mom likes to cause trouble.”

“I know,” Rumple sighed. “Honestly, I just want this to be over as quickly as it can be. I have my shop to go back to, and the properties. I can’t just stay here forever until we reach a settlement.”

Bae watched him closely for a moment. Then, he said, “Are you telling me you made a decision?”

Rumple didn’t answer at first, thinking it over for the tenth time since he got out of bed that morning. Finally, he nodded. “It’s not like she wants to save this anyway and I’m not doing myself any favors avoiding the problem. I should just… talk to Tina and have her start on the paperwork.”

Rumple expected Bae to jump out of his stool and into the couch with him to give him another big hug, just like the night before, thanking him over and over for finally taking that weight off his shoulders. Instead, his son exhaled loudly and relaxed. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear this.”

“I want this to be quick, though,” Rumple continued. “I want Tina to just… split everything and get this over with as soon as she can.”

“I’m sure that Tina can convince her of a reasonable agreement. She’s really good. I don’t think it’s fair to you after what she did, but if you tell me paying mom will make it easier to move on, you’ll have my full support.”

His father nodded. “This really matters to me. Your support, I mean.”

“Well, you have it. I’m going to call Tina and arrange another meeting.”

“Tell her to get me cigarettes.”

“Dad-”

“I’m  _kidding_ , Baelfire.”

He still had the pack she had given him not two weeks before. Out of respect, he had kept them in the back pocket of his trousers and tried not to think too much about them. But as soon as he was done with breakfast, he excused himself to go for a walk and quickly worked his way through the remaining nine cigarettes. He’d surely pick up bad habits, if he wanted to go through this divorce thing with his sanity intact. It didn’t feel exactly good but it was sufficiently soothing. Bae would loudly disapprove, but he’d have to live with it. 

Tina saw him the next day. Documents were signed and more cigarettes were gifted, much to his son’s displeasure. Tina said she’d contact Milah within the next couple of days to see where they stood and report back to him. As far as she was concerned, he wouldn’t have to talk to his wife unless it was extremely necessary.

He could do it.

He had his son. And Henry. To some extent, he even had Emma and her family. It would not be fun and he still wished he didn’t have to go through it. But it was going to happen, whether he liked it or not, and it was good to know he wouldn’t have to go through it alone.

-

It was on Thursday that Tina called Milah. Rumple was sure of that because she came to New York on Friday. He first noticed it while waiting in front of Henry’s school. Though he couldn’t see her, he was too familiar with that feeling in the back of his neck, as if someone was staring intently at him, waiting for him to turn. Someone who was not happy.

However, when Milah sat down by his side later on, as he was watching Henry play in the park, her face was serene, almost repented.

He did his best not to turn, even though every fiber of his being was pleading him to do so. To listen to what she had to say. If he didn’t move, maybe she’d leave and only talk to Tina from there on.

“How old is he now?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

“He’s almost nine,” Rumple answered, against his better judgment.

“Has it been nine years already?”

He decided to take that as a rhetorical question and not answer.

She insisted, “He looks so much like Bae, doesn’t he?”

“You need to leave.”

“Why?”

“Because Bae doesn’t want you near his son and he’s going to be very angry if he knows I let you stay. Do you really want to give him more reason to be angry?” He turned to look into her eyes. She had put on a little extra make up that morning, trying to mask the dark circles underneath her eyes. It had been unsuccessful, but it didn’t matter. She was still beautiful. Rumple wondered if she was having trouble sleeping, but looked away before he could reach a conclusion. “Or me for that matter,” he said.

“Are you angry?”

He answered, “What do you think?” as if the answer could be no other than “I am raging furious!” But her voice was soft and careful and, truth be told, he wasn’t even sure he had been angry to begin with. He had felt sorry for himself. And so terribly sad. But that felt more similar to mourning than hate.

“I think you keep mentioning Neal and you haven’t really answered my question,” Milah argued gently. “And you didn’t want to leave the house. I saw you, Rumple. Neal practically dragged you away-”

“Good thing that he did, isn’t it? Because that’s the least I should have done.”

She said nothing.

Rumple focused his eyes on Henry again. The lad looked oblivious to what was going on between them.

Milah said, “Your lawyer called me.”

“I thought she had.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“Why didn’t you?” he retorted.

Her answer was immediate, almost hurt. “I  _did_. You didn’t pick up.”

“Once. You didn’t really make an effort.”

Milah closed her eyes and turned her face away. “I thought we both might need some time. I didn’t think you’d be… moving on.”

“You seemed to be moving on without my help.”

Rumple waited for her to throw Cora in his face. Lord knew she was not shy about using that  to havean advantage over him. If she had ever had the right or the opportunity, this was it. He wouldn’t even blame her or be mad. But, to her credit, she did not.

“I made a terrible mistake,” she said instead, and he couldn’t remember her voice ever sounding so apologetic.

“Yes, you did.”

“Do you still love me?”

The question was so abrupt it caught him off guard and rendered him mute.

“You need to leave,” he asked, thinking that was the safest way out.

“It’s a simple question.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Grandad!” Henry cried out, running up to the both of them.

Rumple startled and shifted his body to block as much of Milah as he could. Henry had never met his paternal grandmother and the last time he had seen a picture of her had been years ago. But you never know.

“Grandad, can I have ice cream?” he asked, showing no signs of having recognized Milah, or even noticing her.

Rumple consulted his watch. “You sure you won’t lose your appetite? I’m making spaghetti tonight.”

“Just a small one? Please?”

“Let me see if I have any change.”

“I have change,” Milah announced, reaching inside her pocket and producing a few coins. “Would this be enough, my dear?”

Henry eyed her with suspicion. Emma had drilled stranger danger inside his head repeatedly. But at the same time, he really wanted ice cream. Rumple nodded and Henry took the coins from Milah’s hands with a proper, “Thank you, Miss.”

“You are welcome, my darling.”

Henry giggled. “You talk funny, like Grandad.”

“Henry go get your ice cream and wait for me there, alright? We can take a walk in the park.”

Henry gave him a funny look, then glanced back at Milah. But he pranced away without asking any more questions.

“You can’t do this sort of thing,” Rumple said. “Bae will be mad at you. And me.”

Milah ignored him and said, “I need to talk to you.”

“We have nothing more to say to each other.”

He reached for his cane, ready to walk away to the best of his ability. If she decided to take his cane away to keep him in place until she was done talking, there was nothing he could do to stop her. But again, to her credit, Milah crossed her arms and limited herself to standing up.

“I don’t want to get divorced,” she stated.

“Why not?” he demanded, louder than intended.

Her eyes watered. “We love each other.”

There was no way to stop those words from stinging, but he pushed through the pain and said, “We make each other miserable. Why should we keep wasting time?”

“We love each other,” she repeated, shrinking into herself and looking smaller than he had ever seen her. “That used to be enough. It can be again.”

Rumple shook his head and seemed ready to start away from the bench and towards Henry, who was licking a popsicle a few yards away. Instead, he turned on his heels and leaned closer to her. Milah hugged herself, looking intimidated. Guilty. There was a strange pleasure in making her feel that way, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it.

“You know what?” he said. “You’re the one who’s unhappy. You’re the one who’s drinking. I’ve made my share of mistakes, but at least I was  _trying_. I didn’t come home after Cora on a whim. I wanted to fix things.”

She whispered, “I know.”

“If you were so unhappy, why do you even want to keep this up?”

“I don’t want to keep this up. I want to start over,” she said, making him go quiet. “I am not denying what we had was bad. But it wasn’t always bad. Maybe-maybe you are right. Maybe there was nothing worth saving, but that was what we needed. We had to burn things to the ground so we could start again and be better.”

He didn’t say a word.

“I’m just saying… lets talk.” She tried to smile in an encouraging way. It looked so pathetic it was almost endearing. “I have some things I’d like to say. I think we can change.  _I_  can change. We can be better. You’ll see.”

He stared at her. Then he said, “I have to take Henry home.”

Rumple turned, but she still followed closely, pleading, “Just think about it. Just sleep on it. I’ll be here all weekend and, and if you want, we can meet. Bae can be there. And your lawyer. And if you say leave, then I’ll leave-”

“Leave.”

She ignored him and continued, “But I’m willing to try. And I’m sorry. Please. Just think about it.”

He turned to ask her to leave again. Be she had already turned and walked away much faster than he could follow with his cane.

That was probably a good thing because, despite everything, he still felt the urge to run after her.


	4. Doing Things Out of Desperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple, Neal and Milah have a meeting. She gets exactly what she came for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very sorry this chapter took forever to write, but I think you'll see it's one of the most emotional I've done so far and it took a while to get the tone right.
> 
> Be ready for a lot of angry people screaming, family problems, and Milah being cunning and manipulative.
> 
> A HUGE THANKS to Maddie (maddiebonanafana.tumblr.com) who betaed and provided much needed feedback.

**4\. Doing Things Out Of Desperation**

 

“I'm turning in,” Emma announced, getting up from the couch.

Rumple offered her the remote control. “Don't you want to watch something else?”

“No, I'm good. But you have fun with your documentary. Hope it doesn't give you nightmares.”

Rumple turned back to the screen. It was showing something about the slaughter of baby dolphins. No wonder Emma had been immediately repelled. But he hadn't really been paying attention. Ever since he'd got home, he couldn't concentrate on anything but Milah's words.

A late apology. That was all he was getting from her. He should be angry it had taken her so long. And it wasn't like it changed what had happened. Or the fact that their marriage had become unbearable. They were no longer happy. They had twenty eight years together, but now it was time to move on. Milah knew it just as well as he did, she just felt too guilty to admit it.

As for himself... all he wanted was to go back home to his wife, but that was no longer an option. He had to stop dwelling in the past.

“Sentimental idiot,” he muttered.

“What did you say?”

Rumple looked up. Bae had his eyes on the television, where blood and water made for an all too unappealing scene. Rumple said, “Nothing. Thinking out loud.”

“The hell are you watching?” Bae asked, slightly disgusted.

His father answered, “No idea.” And turned off the television. “Finished with your fatherly duties?”

“Bedtime stories read, closets checked for monsters, blankets tucked in. I'm nailing this fatherhood stuff.”

Rumple chuckled.

Bae sat by his side. “I wanted to talk to you before bed.”

“Sure, what is it?”

“Henry just told me that you have a mysterious girlfriend.”

Rumple had been expecting something like that. It was a miracle Henry hadn't spilled the beans during dinner.

He said, “I was going to tell you. I was just waiting for him to go to bed.”

Bae said, “I know.” But Rumple knew what honesty looked like on his face and it was nothing like that.

“Your mother cornered me in the park,” he explained. “I told her to leave and she didn't. I didn't want to cause a scene in front of Henry, so I told him to go get an ice cream and we left as soon as I could.”

“Yes, he told me,” Bae admitted, reluctantly.

“So he didn't recognize her? From pictures or...?”

“No. And I told him you were probably just being nice to a stranger.”

“Good. I was worried.”

“Can I ask what did she want?”

Rumple sighed. “She wanted to apologize and ask me for another chance.”

“Took her long enough. What did you say?”

“I said that we are not happy and that there's no point in repeating past mistakes.”

There was surprise on Bae's face as he nodded. “Good. That's good, dad. I'm happy. It was the right decision.”

“Yes, but here's the part you're not going to like,” Rumple said. Bae frowned, expecting the worst. “She said she'd like to meet me with my lawyer, and yourself. That she has a few things she'd like to say.”

“And the part that I won't like,” Bae said, cautiously, “is that you want to do it.”

“I'll have to do it eventually.”

“You won't. You have lawyers to do that.”

“Bae-”

“What good could come from that?”

“I just don't see why not do it now?”

“Because mom's trying to take you back.”

Rumple blinked at her, a little taken aback. “I'm not a possession, Baelfire. You can't dispute with your mother to see who _takes_ me.”

“I didn't mean-”

“Are you doing this to help me or to spite your mother?”

Bae gaped at that. “That is a very unfair question. I don't like it when mom is near you because she's like poison and she's ruined your life enough!”

“You have a very negative view of my marriage.”

“I have a realistic view of your marriage.”

Rumple sighed and tried to calm himself. Whether Bae liked it or not, he had taken after Milah's stubbornness. Sometimes, Rumple even caught a glimpse of his wife's explosive temper in his son's eyes. If they ended up having a fight, chances were they'd get nowhere. It would be best to appeal to his rational side.

“I understand that you want to help me,” Rumple said, his voice even and non-confrontational. “I am not saying that you don't. But I also know that you're mad at your mother for many reasons-”

Bae cut in, “I'd say they're legitimate reasons.”

His father raised a hand, silencing him. “I'm not arguing that. But I think you're letting your anger cloud your judgment. And, if I'm to be even more honest, I also think your need for me to leave your mother is your way of getting back at her.”

“That is not true. I love you, and I want you safe.”

“I'm not arguing that either. And you've been great, really. But you're also angry. Can you tell me, in all honesty, that this whole thing doesn't make you feel a little bit vindicated?”

Bae huffed and crossed his arms, but didn't look at his father. A little child that just heard paternal reasoning that he couldn't argue with.

“This isn't a way to end a marriage,” Rumple argued. “We've been together for over twenty eight years, and I just packed everything and left. Do you really expect me to never look at your mother again?”

Bae shook his head, but had no arguments. He probably expected his father to do just that.

Finally, he said, without looking at him, “Do you want to do this for closure?”

Rumple considered it. “Yes. I think so. I just need to know that we're on the same page. I need to know that she won't cause any more trouble, and that she's ready to move on.”

“And do you promise me – _really_ promise me – that you won't get back together?”

Rumple looked at his son. Bae's eyes were pleading. To get this far had been tiring for Rumple, but he hadn't considered just how exhausting the whole process was being for Bae.

Rumple answered, “There is nothing to save anymore.”

And he meant it.

Which only made what happened worse.

*

The whole day, Emma had her eyes on Neal. She didn't know exactly what she was waiting for, but she was watchful. Her boyfriend seemed to be on the edge as he waited for eight o'clock to come, turning quiet as the hours progressed. He barely managed a smile to Henry as their son left with David.

His father seemed to be doing a little better, but Rumple was used to having Milah in the house all the time. Neal was not.

Neither was Emma. The thought of having her in their living room made her feel uneasy. The last time she had interacted with Milah had been three years before, when Graham was elected Sheriff of Storybrooke and they drove there for the ceremony. The woman had showered her with questions about Henry and complimented her extensively on whatever she could, from her shoes to her career. Then, Milah asked if she could ever visit them in New York. Politely, Emma told her that she should ask her son, which put an end to the conversation.

Tina arrived to their apartment first, looking rather intimidating in a black pantsuit. She didn't waste a lot of time in pleasantries before asking, “Did she say what she wants to talk about?”

Rumple replied, “She wasn't very specific. I got the impression that she wanted to apologize.”

Bae scoffed. Emma poked him in the ribs to stop any further remarks, but her boyfriend didn't say anything else.

“And you've made up your mind?” Tina asked.

“Yes,” Rumple repeated. Emma could see he hated everything about the situation, but he did seem resolute in his decision. “There is no point in being stubborn.”

“Good. Is she bringing her lawyer?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“Well then, if she's up for it I can represent the both of you. It will make things less complicated.”

Rumple nodded, but didn't say another word.

Milah arrived at eight, as agreed upon. Emma answered the door, thinking Bae might kick her out before she even had the chance to sit down at the table, and Rumple might run away with her before they had the chance to convince him otherwise.

“Good evening, Mrs. Gold,” Emma said, with the same detachment she used with strangers. She didn't bother to smile.

“You look very beautiful, Emma,” Milah said. “May I come in?”

Emma didn't move from the door. Behind her, Tina had already taken her place at the head of their dinner table, but Neal and Rumple were standing, waiting, tension on their shoulders.

Emma lowered her voice and said, “We don't want trouble tonight, Mrs. Gold.”

Milah went quiet.

“We agreed to this meeting because we would like to have some closure about this horrible situation.”

“Of course. I understand.”

“I don't want you to cause your son any more pain.”

“I don't want to start a scandal or make anybody feel uncomfortable,” Milah explained. Her voice was so sincere Emma would have believed her if she didn't know any better. It occurred to her, not for the first time, that it must be easy for her to wrap her husband around her finger with such a sweet voice. “I just want to apologize. I did something terrible and I think Rumple and Bae deserve this.”

Emma didn't know this woman beyond a handful of conversations, but Neal had painted a very good picture of her and her manipulative nature. Right now, the sincerity in her voice didn't match the eagerness in her eyes and Emma felt her instincts kicking in ( _Don't let her in, don't let her in..._ ). Whatever she was up for, it couldn't be good.

But this wasn't her mother, and this wasn't her marriage. In the end, it wasn't her decision to make, so she stepped back and allowed her into the apartment.

Milah said, “Good evening.”

Neal didn't answer.

Rumple didn't even raise his eyes from the floor.

Tina got up and offered her hand. “Good evening, Mrs. Gold. I'm Tina Bell. I am your husband's solicitor.”

“The divorce lawyer,” she said, as she shook her hand. “Yes. We spoke on the phone.”

“Why don't we all sit down and talk?” Tina suggested, making it sound like this was a friendly meeting. Emma felt like it was a ticking bomb. “Mr. Gold told me you had a few things you'd like to say.”

“Yes. That is, if you're still willing to listen.”

She looked at her husband.

Rumple didn't move until Neal had taken a step forward and reached for a chair himself. He sat at Tina's right. His mother sat across from him and Rumple by his side, still refusing to look up.

Emma said, “Why don't I get everybody a glass of water?”

“Thank you, Emma,” Milah said, folding her hands in front of herself. She looked like a perfect lady, composed and graceful. Emma couldn't imagine this woman in bed with another man, let alone a biker who was younger than her son. When the glasses of water came, she thanked her again and took a sip. “You have a lovely home-”

“What do you want?”

All eyes turned to Rumple. His voice was exhausted, Emma would go as far as to say defeated, but it was still enough to make his wife clear her throat and say, “I wanted us to talk.”

“Then talk, this isn't a social visit.”

Milah looked like her husband had slapped her, even though his voice was not cruel. If anything, it was pleading.

“I did something terrible,” she said. Emma moved away from the table, but stood right behind her. If she tried anything, she was ready to pin her down and keep her from harming anyone. She had taken down criminals twice her size. But Milah showed no signs that she wanted to start a fight. Far from it. She went on, “I was sad and I reacted to it in the worst possible way. It was immature of me. And to make everything worse, our son was actually there to see it.”

Neal said, “Not your proudest moment.”

His father said, “Bae,” sounding like he was calling out a rude child.

“I wasn't trying to hurt you, Rumple,” she said. Then, she paused and thought about it. “No. I was. I was trying to hurt you. I slept with Killian once before.”

Rumple closed his eyes, as if that could shield him from the hurtful truth.

“It's not like we didn't have options. I didn't have to bring him into our bed. I did it because I felt cruel.”

Milah paused and took in the room. Tina was watching her with a calculating look on her face. Neal had been angry from the moment he sat down, but he didn't say a word. Rumple still refused to look at her.

“I'm a cliche,” Milah said, laughing joylessly. “A typical housewife. I got bored and I got angry and I made a mistake-”

“If you're going to pretend this is about cheating,” Neal cut in, making his mother shut up immediately, “you are missing the point altogether.”

Rumple tried to say, “Let her speak, Bae,” but Neal ignored him.

“If you're not even going to acknowledge the things you do, I don't see the point to this.”

“I have a problem,” Milah said. “I have a lot of problems. I am angry, sometimes I say things I don't mean. I-” she bit her lips, then nodded. “I did some things out of anger that I can't take back. I broke things-”

“Things, legs...” Neal muttered.

“Bae, stop it,” Rumple all but pleaded.

In the midst of their voices, came Milah's quiet confession, “I'm not ready to get divorced.”

Neal exclaimed, “There it is!”

His father didn't say a word, but looked into his wife's eyes.

“I have no idea when this happened. I remember that we used to be happy,” Milah said, almost smiling. “And then we weren't anymore. And I think that was my fault. You were doing everything you could to keep this marriage from falling apart. All I did was act bitter and complain about everything. I wasn't really making an effort.”

Emma looked at Rumple. She wasn't surprised to find a little spark of hope in his eyes. This was a new act, and he was falling for it.

Tina must have seen it too, because she announced, “Why don't we take a break? Things are getting a bit too heated.”

“I have nothing more to say,” Milah said. “Except that, if you take me back, I am willing to make some changes. I've already talked to Dr. Hopper and I'm starting therapy next week, to work on my issues. And I'm going to stop drinking.”

“Will you stop throwing heavy things at his head?” Neal said, aggressively. His father turned red from shame. “Because I'd say that was a big issue. I'm not sure you're willing to give that up.”

“Of course I won't throw things at your dad, Neal,” she said, sounding offended Neal would even suggest such a thing. “I will work on my temper. I know it gets out of control sometimes. And I don't expect your father to take me back like that. He doesn't have to. He can stay here with you. I know it will take time, but I'm willing to wait.” She turned to her husband. “I can move out of the house if you want, stay in one of the properties, I don't know. We can take this slowly, start dating again, build this from the ground up. Whatever you feel comfortable with. I don't want you to take me back. I just want to know if... if you'd be willing to start over, maybe? Under these circumstances?”

Emma's eyes fell on Rumple. It didn't take a full second for her to realize what his answer was going to be. Not that she could blame him. Milah's pitch was convincing. A perfect repented sinner, ready to start a new life of atonement.

Her eyes shifted to Neal, who was looking at his father intensely, awaiting his answer, even though he too knew what it was going to be long before Rumple opened his mouth to say, “Yes.”

The moment the word came out of his mouth was the moment Neal's anger transferred. Emma saw it happen inside her boyfriend's eyes, long before Neal slammed his hands on the table and got up so fast his chair fell back on the carpet. He paced the room.

There it was, just what she had been dreading.

“Neal,” she said, “it's alright, sit d-”

“You have to be kidding me,” Neal shouted at his father, making the other man shrink in his chair. “You have to be _freaking_ kidding me.”

“Bae, please, sit down,” his father said. “I just want us to talk-”

“You caught her cheating on you, in your bed! What else do you need to prove that she doesn't love you!”

Milah muttered, “I made a mistake-”

“You make a different mistake every week! And the worst part is that he will always come back to you, like a lap dog!”

Emma walked around the table and put herself between Neal and his father. “Neal, shut up now before you say things that you're going to regret later.”

“Why should I? _She_ does that all the time,” he pointed at his mother. “ _He_ doesn't seem to mind when it's her.”

“Bae,” Rumple tried again, getting up. Milah followed suit. “I just want to have some time to think things through.”

“You had twenty eight years to think things through. What kind of evidence do you need that she's never going to change?”

“Neal,” Milah said, tentative, “I understand why you're angry, and you have every right-”

“Stop with the sensible person act!” Neal yelled. “You won! You got what you came for! Now take him and go!”

Milah stared at him.

Rumple seemed genuinely confused. “What? Bae, I'm not going anywhere.”

Tina got up as well and tried to speak louder than her friend, “Why don't we all sit back down and try to work out what you and your wife want, before we jump into conclusions?”

“Why?” Neal demanded. “What difference does it make? If he doesn't leave tonight, he'll leave tomorrow, or however long it takes for her to wrap him around her finger again. Might as well leave now. Goodbye.”

Rumple seemed taken aback by his bluntness, but he still said, “Bae, I'm not going to leave.”

Emma looked at Milah. She had her eyes firmly on the floor, waiting.

“You want to leave now,” Neal pointed out.

“It doesn't matter what I want. I am not going to leave if it hurts you this much.”

“Why not?”

The question baffled him. “Because you're my son and I love you.”

“You don't love me,” Bae said, cruelly. “You love _her_. That's the only thing you love. You love being her puppet. You love being her stupid husband. The moment you have to act like a man and stand up to her, you're a coward.”

Emma pulled at his arm, “Neal, seriously, you have to stop!”

Rumple said, “You're being unfair.”

“She punched me, and you sent me away to a boarding school. What kind of person punishes a child for being punched?”

“I wasn't trying to punish you!” Rumple replied, shocked that something like that even crossed Neal's mind. “I was trying to protect you.”

“If you wanted to protect me, you'd have left her.”

“Bae-”

“Do you even remember what I caught her doing-”

“Baelfire, you were a child!” he cried out, on the verge of panic. “You were mistaken!”

“I was _not_ mistaken!”

“Bae, please! I just want to think this through before-”

“ _You don't think things through!_ ” he shouted. “ _You never have! The only time you think twice is when I ask you to be a good father and make the right decision, which you never do!_ ”

“Alright!” Emma shouted above Neal's voice. “This is getting too heated! Rumple, sit down. Neal, go cool your head elsewh-”

“I'm not cooling anything!” Neal shouted, even louder than before. “You want to go, _go_! Go be her punching bag! I wash my hands of this! I'm not wasting another moment trying to help you! And when you finally get smart, don't even think about coming near me or my son! You are not my problem anymore!”

Emma tried to hold his arm, saying, “Neal – cool – down!”

But he escaped her grasp and left the living room. A second later, they heard the bedroom door being slammed shut.

Emma took a deep breath and looked around the room. Milah had her back against a wall. It wouldn't have surprised Emma to find the woman smiling to herself, but she was too smart for that. Tina stood helplessly in the middle of the living room. Rumple had his wet eyes fixed on where Neal had disappeared into, too shocked to move.

Emma should have known better than to leave him with nothing but a pleading request, “Wait here! Don't leave!” But she had never seen Neal like that. She had to reach him before he locked himself inside their bedroom, maybe did something stupid.

It was no surprise when Tina knocked on their bedroom door fifteen minutes later.

“I'm sorry,” she said, when Emma's red rimmed eyes peeked into the corridor. There was a muffled sound coming from the darkness behind her that could only be her friend sobbing into a pillow. “I'm so sorry, I tried to keep him here, but he left with her.”

Emma opened the door a little more, but didn't move. She seemed to consider the possibility of running after the both of them and drag Rumple back into the apartment. But right now, Neal had become her priority.

She told Tina, “Okay, thank you Tina, sorry it didn't work out.” And closed the door.

Tina showed herself out.

*

The way back home was spent mostly in silence. Milah knew better than to ask if he was feeling alright. She had never seen him so shaken up before.

Once, when they were close to Portland, she asked him, “Honey, if you want to go back, I understand. You don't have to move back in right now.”

Rumple mumbled, “He doesn't want me there.”

“I'm sure that's not true. He'll see how poorly he treated you once he calms down. You know he was just mad at me and took it out on you.”

“No,” Rumple said in a little voice. “No, I don't think that was the case.”

Milah tried all the lies he usually told her when Neal was furious with her. That he was just mad and didn't mean it. That he was a forgiving son. That he had done nothing wrong. She knew it wasn't very comforting, but she had to say something. It was what a good wife would do.

By the time they got home, the sky had turned into a pale blue tone and Rumple still hadn't said a word.

“Hey, love, it's alright,” Milah said, taking his hand and pulling him closer. “Come here. It's alright. I'll make it up to you.”

She held his face in her hands and gave him a kiss. It was sweet and chaste and nothing like the kisses she'd given him the past few years. He missed her tenderness so very much, especially in terrible days like this.

“Do you want me to make it up to you, love?”

The question didn't sound like a tease. It sounded honest, concerned for his consent, and the fact that he could simply step back and say no put him at ease. Milah would more often than not throw herself on his lap and demand attention.

“Don't you want to kiss me, honey?” she'd say, a hand on his nape, pulling his face closer. Saying he wasn't in the mood would just end in a fight. More often than not, he went along with it to avoid conflict and loved her with anxiety nagging at the back of his head. What if he couldn't hold it long enough? What if he got soft? What if he couldn't do it at all? And she was so easy to disappoint.

Not that he  could blame her. He  wa s n' t an old man.  There was no reason for him not to work like other men did. Yet, most times sex ended in apologies and a painful remark from his wife. Whatever pleasure he extracted from  it  was  not  worth the trouble .  H e couldn't remember the last time sex felt good.

But tonight, it did.  It felt gentle and slow paced,  the way it used to before they both made every bad decision regarding their marriage.

“You're the one I want,” she rasped, sounding desperate to make him believe  her  as she rocked with his hips. “Not him. He was nothing. I just wanted you.”

Which  was exactly what he wanted to hear because Baelfire's angry words were still echoing inside his head and, more than anything, he wanted to feel that somebody loved him and that he had a home to come back to.

Milah felt like home. That was good enough to earn his forgiveness.

“I meant what I said,” Milah told him, when the sun was coming up and he was lying on his stomach. He was too tired to say anything, but Milah didn't sound tired at all. “He's gone. I won't look for Killian anymore. We're going to fix this.”

Rumple responded with a wishful sigh. He wanted to believe her so badly.

Milah's fingers got tangled in his hair. “You still look sad. Bae shouldn't have talked to you like that. It wasn't right.”

“He was angry,” Rumple whispered. But he didn't like the way his son had spoken either. Rumple had hated his father, yet he had never raised his voice to him like that. And the horrible things Bae said... he didn't even know his son was this angry at him.

“He was trying to help me,” Rumple continued. “I can see why he was frustrated.”

Milah twirled his hair around her finger.

“Still, that was unnecessary,” she insisted. “Talking to you like that when he gives me so much grief for so much as snapping at you. And he said that he wanted to help you.”

Rumple concentrated on her fingertips. He thought of the way her breath warmed his nape. But no matter what he tried, he couldn't block the next words away.

“I guess he didn't mean it.”

It dripped inside his ear like poison and it took a firm grip on his heart.

Rumple pulled the covers closer, suddenly aware of the cold. Milah tightened her embrace around his body. Her touch felt warm and comforting. When he started weeping, she did him the favor of pretending not to notice.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal comes to Storybrooke to have a talk with his mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Belle is not in this chapter.  
> Beta: MaddieBonanaFana

Milah’s reaction to finding her son at her doorstep was first to stare at him, too paralyzed by fear to do anything. Not that Neal could blame her. His visits usually ended in someone shouting. Or maybe she was afraid he might try to drag his father away again.

Neal said, “I brought dad’s suitcase. He left it behind.”

Milah answered, “Your father’s at the shop.”

“I know. I saw the Cadillac when I drove in.”

She bit her lips. “If you’re wondering if there’s another man in the house, there isn’t.”

That hadn’t even crossed his mind. At least, not recently. When his anger was still burning hot, he had no trouble wondering just how many men his mother would bring home behind his father’s back. She wouldn’t even try to be discreet, and Rumple wouldn’t even care.

“Those two deserve each other,” he had told Emma, but his girlfriend had shaken her head. He snapped, “Do you think I’m wrong?”

“I think you need time to clear your head.”

“My head is clear.”

“No, your head is a mess, as it should be. You’re angry, and you have every right to be. But you can’t talk to your dad before you get it all out of your system.”

Five weeks later, and he wasn’t sure if he had succeeded in “getting it all out of his system”. He wasn’t even sure how he’d react upon seeing his father, or his mother for that matter. Neal had gone as far as to tell Graham to be prepared, he might come into the station in handcuffs after trying to murder one or both of his parents.

But right now, guilt was louder than anger, as was the urge to fix everything he had inadvertently broken.

“Can we talk before dad comes home?” he asked.

His mother stood before him, not knowing what to say. Neal never asked to talk. He came in with accusations and threats, giving her no time to explain or apologize.

“I could make us some tea,” she suggested.

“I don’t drink tea.”

“Coffee, then?”

Neal shrugged. “That would do.”

Milah stepped aside and let her son come in. Neal didn’t say another word until he was sitting in the kitchen, watching his mother handle the coffee machine. She looked almost nervous, though Neal couldn’t blame her. It had been quite some time since the last time he had been inside the house, let alone in the same room as her without a fight erupting.

It was only after Neal had taken the first sip out of his mug that she dared speak again.

“I was about to make dinner. I can phone your father and ask him to bring more chicken if you’re going to join us.”

“I won’t. I’ve already made plans with Graham. I’m staying with him.”

“You don’t have to,” she tried.

Neal didn’t bother to comment on that.

Milah nodded, “I can see that you’re still angry.”

“Damn right, I’m still angry,” he said, but there was no aggressiveness in his tone.

“I know that you think I went into your home to cause a fight between you and your father. But I swear, honey, that wasn’t my intention. If it were up to me, we’d just get along-”

“I really don’t care,” he interrupted, still very calm. That, more than anything else, seemed to throw her off. Playing the rational person was her strategy, she didn’t like to have it thrown back in her face. “What happened, happened. Dad didn’t leave because of what you said. He left because I lost my temper and said something stupid.” He paused. “A lot of  _somethings_ , come to think of it.”

“He’s not mad, Neal, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she reassured him, and even dared to pat his hand. The gesture felt unpracticed, unnatural. It was honest, not a mimic of affection, but she didn’t know how to do it anymore. Still, she made an effort.

When Neal was a child, she used to reach out for his cheek and stroke it whenever he came to her with watery eyes. “There, there, love,” she’d say. “There’s no need to cry. You’re mommy’s brave little man.” Neal couldn’t remember if that had been comforting him. It probably had. But nowadays he couldn’t look back at his childhood without feeling bitter. Milah’s actions had damaged his relationships with his father, but it also had poisoned the few good memories he had of a loving mother.

“He’s just a little hurt,” Milah said. “I’m sure you’ll figure everything out. At least I want you to.”

“Right,” Neal said, his voice so acidic that Milah retreated. He had no use for a comforting mother now. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll solve things with dad later. Do you love me?”

The question was so abrupt that Milah startled.

“How can you ask me that?” she said. “You came  _from_  me. You’re my only son. You’re the most precious person in my life.”

Neal didn’t look at her.

“Even though you’re not in my life anymore,” she added, sorrowful.

He shook his head. “I don’t like what this family has become any more than you do.”

“I know, love-”

“Did you know Henry has no idea what you look like? He asks about his Granny sometimes, and I never know what to say. And your whole situation with dad, I just don’t-” his shoulders rose and fell. “Dad’s never going to leave you.”

Milah didn’t say a word.

“No matter what happens, no matter what I say or how much I beg, you will always find a way to wrap him around your finger.”

“I don’t wrap him around my finger,” she tried.

Neal scoffed, but clenched his hands around the mug, trying to keep his temper under control.

“I want you to leave him,” he said.

Milah sighed. “I know, love. That’s your-”

“I’m not stating it. I’m asking you.”

Milah went quiet and stared at him, just as in shock as she was when she first opened the front door.

“Dad is naive,” Neal said. “Or he has his own issues, I don’t know. I don’t know what it is that keeps him lashed to you and he won’t tell me. But you’re smart. You  _know_  that your marriage is ridiculous and that you’ll get nothing out of it if you keep pushing his buttons.”

“I’ve made a mistake-”

“Mom, please!” he snapped, finally raising his voice. “I’m not dad! I’ve watched you hurt him for decades, over and over. Except that, unlike him, I don’t love you enough to pretend it’s nothing.”

“You’re being unfair,” Milah said, blinking back tears, but she didn’t seem surprised to hear something so harsh from his lips.

“Am I now?”

“I’m not perfect, Baelfire, but I do not hurt your dad.”

“Well, tell you what? Why don’t we remember why he walks with a cane and go from there?”

“I didn’t know his leg was broken.”

Neal rolled his eyes. He might as well be talking to a wall. “Whatever, I don’t care. It doesn’t matter anymore. You have someone else in your life.”

“Killian is gone.”

“You can call him back.”

“I’m not going to.”

“Yes, you will. You can have a happy life with him. I’ll talk to Tina and dad and make sure you get a good settlement in the divorce. You can travel the whole world with Killian, or whoever else you want.”

“I don’t care about money.”

“You can be my mom again.”

Milah raised her eyes at him.

Neal said, “I’m not saying it won’t take time, but we can do it. We can meet sometimes, for coffee or stuff like that. After a while, if I think you’re better, you can come into my house, spend some time with Emma. Even Henry, if you’re nice.”

Neal tried to read her face. Shock had rendered her speechless, but she seemed hopeful.

“All you have to do is leave dad. That’s all I want. He’s never going to, but you know better. You can both be happy. Don’t you want to be happy, mommy? You don’t need to keep this up. I mean, did you ever love him? Truly love him? You were seventeen-”

“Alright.”

Neal’s heart almost leaped out of his chest. “Alright?”

“Alright. I can do that, if it makes you happy. I’ll divorce your father.”

“Oh, mom,” he said, the word so filled with love it felt unfamiliar in his lips, but he could get used it. “Oh, mom,  _thank you_.”

“If you leave Emma.”

Neal blinked at her. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I will leave your father if you leave Emma.”

Neal replayed that sentence in his mind, once, twice, five times- no matter how many times, it still made no sense to him.

“You are kidding.”

“I am not.”

“Leave Emma? Why would you want me to leave Emma?”

Milah shrugged, dismissing her request as something so trivial she shouldn’t have to explain.

“You don’t even know her!” he snapped. “You’ve talked to her, what? Three times in nine years? You can’t tell me all of this is because you don’t approve of my girlfriend!”

“It’s not, I quite like Emma. She’s a lovely, strong girl. I just wanted to show you how ludicrous you sound.”

It was Neal’s time to be rendered mute by shock.

Milah took advantage of the silence to speak.

“I am sorry that you got caught up in our fights so often when you were young, Neal. Truly. I admit that I have a difficult temper. That didn’t make your childhood any easier. I’ve made mistakes, so did your dad. But we love each other. Just as much as you love Emma. I will not apologize for my marriage or the decisions that I’ve made, especially when I’m here, trying to make up for them.”

“You can’t abuse my father on a daily basis and call that love.”

Milah looked into her son’s eyes and, for a moment, Neal felt like he was fourteen again, standing in the kitchen, looking at his mother as the mask of the caring, loving woman fell off and the monster underneath it showed its true face. He had made her angry. At any moment now, she was going to throw a punch.

But Milah didn’t move from her chair.

In the iciest voice she could muster, she told him, “You shouldn’t use that word lightly. You have no idea what that means.”

Neal frowned at her. He wondered if she was trying to manipulate the situation, make him feel guilty. But that anger was real. It might have been the most honest she had ever been with him.

Outside, came the sound of the Cadillac, pulling into the driveway.

“It’s your father,” Milah said. “I think you might want to meet him outside.”

*

Neal got to the porch by the time his father was locking the car. Much like Milah, Rumple’s first reaction was to be paralyzed by shock and regard him with caution. To show that there was nothing to fear, Neal waved weakly at him. It wasn’t very encouraging, but it was enough to get his father moving. When he got to the porch, he kept a safe distance between himself and his son.

Neal crossed his arms in front of his chest and waited. There were too many things he could say, and that he probably  _should_  say, but he couldn’t decide where to start.

His father said, “I didn’t see your car.”

“I took the bus.”

“I’ll reimburse you for the ticket.”

“You should. I came to bring your suitcase.”

Rumple looked around.

Neal said, “It’s inside. I gave it to mom.” When his father looked worried, Neal rolled his eyes and added, “She’s  _fine_. We just talked. Didn’t even have a proper fight.”

“What did you talk about?”

Instead of answering, Neal asked, “What kind of life did mom have before she met you?”

His father frowned, finding the question strange. Neal had asked both of his parents about their childhood, as children often do. He wanted to know about London and Scotland and how did they end up in a small town in Maine. He was curious about his grandparents, and why did everyone seemed to have four of them, but Neal had none?

Rumple and Milah never gave him straight answers. They would speak of their hometowns somewhat fondly, his mother would go as far as to say the English were the best people in the world, but Neal usually got no information on their lives before they became parents. All he knew was that Rumple moved to Maine as a child because  _his_  father found a good real estate opportunity and invested all they had in it. Milah moved to Boston at the age of thirteen when her widowed mother remarried, but didn’t stay there very long. Neal didn’t know why. He also didn’t know what his parents thought of being moved around either. As for his grandparents, Grandpa Malcolm was deemed “a rotten bastard” by Milah and “not a good father” by Rumple, and Grandma Merry was dead; he knew nothing of his mother’s family.

Neal didn’t understand why his parents shrouded their previous lives in so much mystery until Henry asked him about Granny Milah for the first time and he found myself at a loss of words. Maybe mystery had nothing to do with it. Maybe it was just pain, and they didn’t want to think about that time.

Judging by the look on his father’s face, nothing had changed.

He said, “Why do you ask?”

Neal shrugged, as if the question was nothing but a whim. When his father didn’t answer, he added, “It’s something that mom said when we were talking.”

“What was it?”

“I made a remark about abuse and she said I shouldn’t use the word so lightly.”

His father opened his mouth to speak, probably to question this “remark” he had made, but changed his mind and went quiet. When he spoke again, his voice was cautious. “Your mother had a difficult life.”

“What kind of difficult life?”

“She wouldn’t like me to tell you, it’s best that you ask her.”

“What’s she going to do? Isn’t she reformed now?”

His father watched him for a moment. When he spoke again, it was clear that he didn’t appreciate the sarcasm in his voice. “I don’t want to tell you because she should have a say on how much of her life she wants to share. It’s called being polite.”

Neal grumbled, but looked at the floor.

Rumple asked, “Did you come here to accuse her of abusing me?”

“I came here to ask her to be a decent person and divorce you, since you won’t. She wasn’t keen on the idea.”

He waited for his father to be outraged, or at least disappointed that he’d gone behind his back. Rumple didn’t seem bothered, though.

He said, “That’s one thing you never tried before.” And tried to smile.

Neal didn’t smile back.

“You’re still mad,” his father said, unsurprised.

“I think I’m going to stay mad for a while.”

Rumple nodded. “I understand.”

Neal pulled his arms closer to his chest, taking in a deep breath. He let go and said, “But I said a lot of stupid things and I didn’t mean them.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.”

“No, it is,” his father insisted. “I didn’t even think of how difficult the whole thing was for you.”

Neal shrugged.

“And I mishandled the whole boarding school thing.”

Despite the situation, Neal chuckled. “I didn’t even know I was still mad about that. My therapist is having a field day!”

“Send me that bill too.”

“Don’t tempt me, he’s expensive.”

“Your mother’s seeing a therapist too,” Rumple said. Neal didn’t seem interested, but he continued, “Twice a week. You remember Archie Hopper? He was setting his practice just as you were leaving town?”

Reluctantly, Neal muttered, “Yes.”

“Well, she’s seeing him twice a week. Usually by herself, but I’ve been to one of the sessions. For support. He thought it might help.”

“Is it helping?” Neal asked, finally getting to the important question.

“I think it is,” his father answered, daring to sound hopeful. “We haven’t had a fight since we got back. We’re sleeping in the same room again. We’re trying to figure out a new routine, so we can spend more time-”

Neal shut him up by stepping up to him and pulling his father into a hug before he could change his mind. It didn’t take Rumple more than a heartbeat to recover from the shock and wrap his arms around his son in a desperate embrace.

“Don’t ever stop talking to me again,” he pleaded, and the sound of his voice only made Neal feel more guilty.

“I won’t, Papa.”

“You can scream at me all you want,” Rumple said. “You can even punch me if you’d like, but don’t ever stop talking to me again. I can’t take it.”

“I won’t, I’m sorry. I don’t hate you,” he promised. “I just needed some time. I didn’t want to be an asshole again.”

“You were not an asshole.”

Neal chuckled against his father’s shoulder.

“Alright,” Rumple admitted. “Maybe you were, just a little bit. But that’s alright.”

Neal stepped back to look into his father’s eyes, but Rumple kept his arms around him regardless, as if afraid his son might run away he allowed him to go to far.

Neal asked, “Are you sure you want to stay?”

Rumple nodded. “I am.”

“You don’t have to, Papa. Not if you’re doing it because of what I did-”

“No, Bae, it’s not you,” he promised. “It’s not you, or what you did. It’s just that I think I can fix this. With your mother. She’s better now. And I’m happy. Truly.”

As if to prove his point, he gave his son a smile. It was tired and lachrymose – or maybe that was just the tears in his eyes. Or in Neal’s eyes.

Neal wiped them away and said, “God, what a couple of stupid babies we are.”

Rumple laughed. “Indeed. You took that after me.”

“You’re going to leave her, right?” he asked, making his father stop smiling. “I mean, if she ever does that again.”

“She’s not going to do that again.”

“But  _if_  dad. Then you promise you’re going to leave her? Because I meant what I said. You can stay with us. And Tina is still willing to represent you, if you’d like.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want you to feel trapped.”

“I don’t feel trapped,” he said, a little too quickly. It sounded more like he wanted to make Neal feel better than actually be honest.

“Dad, I mean it.”

“I know.”

“And this is mom’s last chance?”

“Last chance,” his father repeated. “Promise.”

Neal didn’t know if he believed him, so he pulled his father into another hug and squeezed him tight.

“You’ll see, Bae,” Rumple whispered, one hand smoothing the hair on the back of Neal’s head. “We’ll be alright now. Everything will be alright.”

**Author's Note:**

> A list of all one-shots in verse chronological order can be found here: http://annievh.tumblr.com/post/102166515522/behind-closed-doors-warnings-domestic-abuse
> 
> I'm still taking prompts for this verse if anybody wants to send them.
> 
> I'm also doing a ASK MY CHARACTERS (annievh.tumblr.com/ask).


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